A bit of an apt title, given that the Olympic Games are currently taking place in London - and what a spectacle of incredible achievement it has been! (And I use the word "spectacle" as tongue-in-cheek as any other viewer limited to the cattle-truck type tour of the games that has been offered by the local free-to-air television network...and no, I'm not ungrateful for what I'm given, for free, by said network, in case anyone wants to pounce on me as some sort of non-pay-per-view whinging bludger...but when event after event is cut-off mid-competition, with no results ever displayed, or hell, not even shown at all...it starts to grate.)
But I digress. To me, anyone and everyone who competes at the Olympics is a winner. Except those caught cheating (or not caught, for that matter). But what an incredible achievement even to make it to the Games and represent one's country at such an elite level! The dedication and fortitude that goes into such an effort is, frankly, beyond my couch-potato level of comprehension (though if they do ever have a couch-potato event, I'm there!).
And yet, the question keeps arising in my mind - why do some people "win" silver, and others "lose" gold??
I don't think it's just semantics. I can certainly empathise with the heart-ache that must come with missing out on 1st place by 10000000000ths of a second (or so time-keeping these days seems to be!)...to be so close, and to miss out by an atom of a whisker...! Yes. It must hurt like hell. And in that awful moment, it probably does feel like one's world has ended. To then have cameras shoved into one's face and to be asked questions along the lines of, "Where did you go wrong?" can only cement a moment of devastation which surely must rock an athlete to their core. Small wonder some of them find it hard to speak positively about themselves and their experience of competition and their expectations to come!
But as a lay-person questioning this...I have only one thing to ask. And it is thus:
How in the all the holy frigging mother-loving fires of hellish gall can someone, often themselves a non-athlete (or perhaps even a very successful, yet retired one), be so ignorant as to imply in that moment of questioning after a race that anyone who achieves the incredible honour of a SILVER MEDAL at an Olympic Games has somehow lost??? Lost what??! 2nd place out of 7 billion people on the planet aint a bad thing! That's, what...better placed than 99.9999999999999999999999999999% of the population??
I did hear a sporting commentator try to explain the difference between someone winning silver and losing the gold - and his explanation made infinite sense to me: That to lose by an inch when you expect (or are expected) to win can only feel like failure, but to achieve second place when you expect (or are expected) to win nothing at all feels like a huge achievement. I can agree with that sentiment. I can even understand it, though personally I have never been in a position to compete at such a level.
But the distinction between "winning" and "losing" - notably at the Olympics, but one can extend the concept much, much further - concerns me, regardless of any attempt to rationalise it. And here is my hypoethesis as to why. I think we are conditioned, as a society, and in no small part, to see pretty much the whole of life as something in which we either win, or lose. And moreso, I think we are conditioned to see ourselves as either winners, or losers. And when I say "we" here, I am talking specifically about those of us living in a Western-style society, or similar. But where does this very evil and ultimately limiting belief come from? Why should we view life in such bitter terms?
I am going to pose two socially controversial answers to this. Firstly, I believe conventional parenting practices are to blame. And secondly, possibly most at fault - the conventional school system. Well - now that I look at it, I guess I would have to say that perhaps a social system which not only accepts but encourages the concept of people who must then be categorised, by external and often arbritrary means, as either winners or losers (and nothing in between) is the godfather of all evil. Each beast both feeds the others, which in turn feeds itself, sort of like the proverbial snake eating its own tail.
Now before you feel all defensive...I'm not blaming parents by any means, conventional or otherwise. After all, they were, for the most part, themselves conventionally parented, and conventionally schooled, and as such are doing the best they can with the best of intentions, and the highest degree of love, based on what they have been taught to believe is the right and only way. Nor do I blame individual schools, most of which - at least in this country - I believe to be striving continuously to improve the situation for the students in their care and absolutely genuine in their belief that the level - and type - of education they offer their students will benefit them. It is the system of constant grading, of evaluating and punishing and praising and rewarding and failing that is evil...and more so yet, it is the unquestioned assumption that without these things being inflicted upon our children and our students, they cannot possibly become better human beings. It is the system that perpetuates the myth that this sort of treatment creates better human beings! It is the system which offers nothing but confusion - brilliant at maths, but keep failing science, and only got a C in history? It is the system that believes that children are somehow born lesser creatures, incapable of intelligence or kindness or self-motivation, which must then be moulded and failed and graded and in some cases beaten into some ideal of socially-perfected adulthood. (And at what age that mythical version of adulthood is meant to be attained, who knows?) It is the system that creates arbritrary winners and losers every day - you get an A, you get an F; you must clean your room now because [insert reason why child must lose and parent must win here]; because I'm the mum, that's why! You didn't win the silver - you lost the gold.
We are, almost all of us, creatures of this system. For those of us who went through conventional schooling, and who were conventionally parented, our belief in ourselves has been forever changed. Children today, however, seem to have it worse than we did. The pressure is being heaped on them at a much earlier age - and the belief that they can only be either winners or losers is absolute. Perpetuated in every corner of society, and hammered into us every minute by a media who fully subscribes to and participates in the moral demise of its consumers. Didn't get exposed to a baby reading programme while in infancy? Loser. Didn't participate in an accelarated pre-school programme? Loser. Didn't know how to use scissors in kindergarten? Loser. Wasn't toilet-trained by 12 months of age? Loser.
The weight of the word itself - loser - is enough to terrify parents! And why wouldn't it? The awful certainty that their child will end up a loser - and worse, that they could have prevented this from happening by subjecting their baby to flash cards for hours a day from birth - is a terror not worth contemplating. I'm not being flippant. It's the shocking and very sad truth. I have even felt it myself, in my less lucid moments. Fear and terror as only a loving parent can experience. Unfortunately, the impact of all this parental terror lands squarely on those we want most to protect...our children, who are now learning almost from birth than they must win at all costs, or will be relegated to loserdom for all time.
Didn't win the silver but lost the gold. What have we done to our children? What have we done to our society? It is wrong. And yet why we are so socially conditioned to this way of thinking, so blindly accepting of this injustice? Because we have been conditioned to believe that we are all, somehow, losers. Whether through a teacher's ill-timed or undeserved judgement of our performance at school, or the constant reminders from our parents that we really aren't trying hard enough (to be winners, ergo, we must therefore already BE a loser), most of us don't even try to buck the system, because we know we have already lost. And the system needs it to be this way - because god forbid we ended up with a society full of people who truly believed they could achieve anything they put themselves to. Who would do all the menial jobs? Not the winners, that's for sure. (Incidentally, apparently the number one growing job in the USA is...wait for it...Walmart clerk, closely followed by well-known food chain burger flipper.)
School is the mechanism by which society keeps the overwhelming majority in our place...never winning the silver, always losing the gold.
Showing posts with label Random Rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random Rants. Show all posts
Friday, 3 August 2012
Saturday, 16 July 2011
The Helpless Child...
The "helpless" child. It is something we hear quite often - especially in Western society, and more often than not in the media in all its *cough* glorious incarnations. I guess one could argue (with legal tenacity, no doubt) that the phrase itself holds true. Yes, there are some occasions in which children may find themselves without help (ooo, do you see what I did there?). Deprived of help. Denied help. Made to feel helpless.
It is an easy trap to fall into. We first see our newborns - these tiny, pink and outraged bundles of flailing limbs and bewildered expressions and we say, "Awwww, so helpless! So tiny! So vulnerable!" And these are things we are no doubt meant to feel, as part of the bonding process with out infants. It's the part of our brain - our "over-protective mummy" button - that turns us into snarling lions if anyone or anything dares to threaten our offspring.
And yet, newborns are incredibly strong. Tenacious like we could never dream to be. Stubborn, persistent and fiercely commited to living life in a way we have long-since taken for granted. Just think how much your newborn experienced in that first hour outside your safe and nurturing womb...in that first week, that first month! Within seconds of birth, the overwhelming majority of babies have the drive to breathe. Within minutes, to suckle. Experiments have shown that a newborn baby can find its way, completely unassisted, to its mother's breast and attach itself for that first, bonding feed. Helpless? In what sense??
By one year of age, most children can at the very least stagger, if not toddle. Many can run. They can climb. They can say a few words, and understand many, many more. They can play. They can recognise images, sounds, shapes, even words on a page. They have begun to form opinions. Their cognitive skills are already more advanced than most other adult animals on the planet. Helpless? In what sense??
Niamh is nearly two. It's her birthday next week, in fact. What a joy - what a privilege it has been to watch her learn and grow these past nearly two years. And in all that time, I have never once seen her as helpless any more than she sees herself as helpless. That doesn't mean she doesn't need my help. It's something else entirely. It takes great understanding and awareness of self to be able to ask for help, or to recognise that help is required in a given situation. When she says, "Mama, I need help with this, please," my first thought is not panic, "Oh no! She can't manage on her own! Poor, ignorant child!!" Nor do I feel pity. "Ohhh, how terrible. She hasn't learned how to do that yet." Never, ever have I felt superiority. "Awwwww, how sweet and cute! She doesn't know how to do that yet. Isn't she adorable?" Nor shame, "Oh no! My child can't do that yet! But all her friends can!"
I feel joy. She trusts me. She knows she can always ask me for help without fear of any of the above kinds of judgement. And better yet, she trusts herself enough to ask. She feels no shame. She feels connection - I am her guide, and she knows it. It is a humbling, amazing experience, and more than a little daunting, when I think about it!
So, at nearly two years of age, what can Niamh do? Here is just the tip of a very large iceberg.
She can grind eggs shells to feed to the chickens:
She can help change a light globe (she can tell you, step by step, what is required, even if she can't reach the light herself):
She can feed the dogs:
She can make her own decisions (she chose to get wet...and eat a carrot...in a torrential downpour. She had a blast, by the way. So did I!):
She can scoop, pour and measure:
She can crack eggs into a bowl and stir them:
She can help install skirting boards (yes, she really did hammer by herself, and yes, she really did use the power tools - under supervision, but she still did it herself):
I could go on. But my point, I hope, is self-evident. No, she might not be able to vote, drive a car or converse freely on the topic of carbon tax, but is she helpless? Not by a long shot!
The sooner this society and its inhabitants stop thinking of children as lesser beings, the better. Children are not blank slates, requiring our help to mould them into decent or even good human beings. They are born human, and they are born worthy of respect. Yes, they might lack our experience of years, but they think, they feel, they hope, they desire. They feel joy and shame. They feel anger and frustration...and when they do, it is not our place to judge them for it...we who feel these same things every day, and who would be mortified to be put in our place by someone claiming to be our superior for daring to have a whinge about it.
Hmm. You know what? This has turned into another rant when I promised you more Colour Month. Many apologies. Some things, however, I think are worth saying rather than letting them fester on the tip of your tongue.
And so I will close by dedicating this post to "Lizzie" - the 11 year old girl who "dared" to weigh into the carbon tax debate on ABC local radio...and who subsequently bore the brunt of adult derision with courage, grace and maturity far beyond that of those who belittled her.
It is an easy trap to fall into. We first see our newborns - these tiny, pink and outraged bundles of flailing limbs and bewildered expressions and we say, "Awwww, so helpless! So tiny! So vulnerable!" And these are things we are no doubt meant to feel, as part of the bonding process with out infants. It's the part of our brain - our "over-protective mummy" button - that turns us into snarling lions if anyone or anything dares to threaten our offspring.
And yet, newborns are incredibly strong. Tenacious like we could never dream to be. Stubborn, persistent and fiercely commited to living life in a way we have long-since taken for granted. Just think how much your newborn experienced in that first hour outside your safe and nurturing womb...in that first week, that first month! Within seconds of birth, the overwhelming majority of babies have the drive to breathe. Within minutes, to suckle. Experiments have shown that a newborn baby can find its way, completely unassisted, to its mother's breast and attach itself for that first, bonding feed. Helpless? In what sense??
By one year of age, most children can at the very least stagger, if not toddle. Many can run. They can climb. They can say a few words, and understand many, many more. They can play. They can recognise images, sounds, shapes, even words on a page. They have begun to form opinions. Their cognitive skills are already more advanced than most other adult animals on the planet. Helpless? In what sense??
Niamh is nearly two. It's her birthday next week, in fact. What a joy - what a privilege it has been to watch her learn and grow these past nearly two years. And in all that time, I have never once seen her as helpless any more than she sees herself as helpless. That doesn't mean she doesn't need my help. It's something else entirely. It takes great understanding and awareness of self to be able to ask for help, or to recognise that help is required in a given situation. When she says, "Mama, I need help with this, please," my first thought is not panic, "Oh no! She can't manage on her own! Poor, ignorant child!!" Nor do I feel pity. "Ohhh, how terrible. She hasn't learned how to do that yet." Never, ever have I felt superiority. "Awwwww, how sweet and cute! She doesn't know how to do that yet. Isn't she adorable?" Nor shame, "Oh no! My child can't do that yet! But all her friends can!"
I feel joy. She trusts me. She knows she can always ask me for help without fear of any of the above kinds of judgement. And better yet, she trusts herself enough to ask. She feels no shame. She feels connection - I am her guide, and she knows it. It is a humbling, amazing experience, and more than a little daunting, when I think about it!
So, at nearly two years of age, what can Niamh do? Here is just the tip of a very large iceberg.
She can grind eggs shells to feed to the chickens:
The sooner this society and its inhabitants stop thinking of children as lesser beings, the better. Children are not blank slates, requiring our help to mould them into decent or even good human beings. They are born human, and they are born worthy of respect. Yes, they might lack our experience of years, but they think, they feel, they hope, they desire. They feel joy and shame. They feel anger and frustration...and when they do, it is not our place to judge them for it...we who feel these same things every day, and who would be mortified to be put in our place by someone claiming to be our superior for daring to have a whinge about it.
Hmm. You know what? This has turned into another rant when I promised you more Colour Month. Many apologies. Some things, however, I think are worth saying rather than letting them fester on the tip of your tongue.
And so I will close by dedicating this post to "Lizzie" - the 11 year old girl who "dared" to weigh into the carbon tax debate on ABC local radio...and who subsequently bore the brunt of adult derision with courage, grace and maturity far beyond that of those who belittled her.
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
Fresh Air
I love ranting. I'm actually quite good at it, too. Hint: if you don't like ranting, you should probably look away now...
But I just HAD to give a bit of a shout-out, WTF air-time to the whole "air freshener" industry. Seriously?? Pumping chemicals into your home, over your food, your benches, your pets, your skin, your hair, your eyes and everything your child touches, eats and breathes in...how in all the seven levels of hell can that be a good thing?? Have those who happily buy and spray these things around ever looked at what goes into them? Or do they just blindly trust that the evil mix of noxious chemical perfumes designed to cover up the smell of the carcinogens they're breathing in are actually good for them??
I think the advertisements are what get me the most. Well no, the stupidity of the product itself takes the largest slice of the sycophantically pink and poisoned cake. But the ads! Insipid, vacuous women blithely spraying cans of crap over their benchtops, their pets' bedding, their children's toys... Do people really do this? Are people really that paranoid about a little odour? Is this seriously what these companies would have us believe is a GOOD thing to do?? Is this really what we want for our homes and our children?
You know...the cynic in me worries that the reason for this odiferous explosion is that we as a species have finally become so ashamed at our increasingly sedentary and indoor lifestyles that we've decided to cover (literally, ha!) the stink of our chagrine with some paltry memories of how life outside used to be. Like a retired athlete watching videos of their glory days, over and over, but never setting foot on the track again.
That funny thing is, if it smells like poo, there's a fairly good chance that it's brown and sticky and has come out of a bum. (Unless of course it's presented in a can with pictures of flowers on it. Then it's probably just chemical poo. Which is apparently okay to spray over everything in your house.)
If things stink - open a window, people!! Pick some flowers! Burn some essential oils! Hell, try cleaning once in a while! (Not that I advocate cleaning, of course. Just call me Earth Mother Lazy.) But for the love of this infinitesimal speck of a precious blue gem upon which we are so blessed to tread, stop filling our air, our homes and our lungs with this unnecessary crap!!! We have nowhere else to go, people! This Earth is the only one we have. Your children are the only ones you have. Expose them to nature, not to a picture of it on a can of poison. The last thing they need in their beautiful lives are superbugs which are immune to every antibacterial known to mankind, but which also smell like "crackling fire and cinnamon spice."
Okay. Rant over. I could go on, but I don't want someone chasing me down with some hands-free handwash and a spray can of chemical lavendar. If I wanted to inhale that many chemicals, I'd take up smoking.
Tomorrow, I promise I will return to the glorious, rainbow shores of Colour Month.
But I just HAD to give a bit of a shout-out, WTF air-time to the whole "air freshener" industry. Seriously?? Pumping chemicals into your home, over your food, your benches, your pets, your skin, your hair, your eyes and everything your child touches, eats and breathes in...how in all the seven levels of hell can that be a good thing?? Have those who happily buy and spray these things around ever looked at what goes into them? Or do they just blindly trust that the evil mix of noxious chemical perfumes designed to cover up the smell of the carcinogens they're breathing in are actually good for them??
I think the advertisements are what get me the most. Well no, the stupidity of the product itself takes the largest slice of the sycophantically pink and poisoned cake. But the ads! Insipid, vacuous women blithely spraying cans of crap over their benchtops, their pets' bedding, their children's toys... Do people really do this? Are people really that paranoid about a little odour? Is this seriously what these companies would have us believe is a GOOD thing to do?? Is this really what we want for our homes and our children?
You know...the cynic in me worries that the reason for this odiferous explosion is that we as a species have finally become so ashamed at our increasingly sedentary and indoor lifestyles that we've decided to cover (literally, ha!) the stink of our chagrine with some paltry memories of how life outside used to be. Like a retired athlete watching videos of their glory days, over and over, but never setting foot on the track again.
That funny thing is, if it smells like poo, there's a fairly good chance that it's brown and sticky and has come out of a bum. (Unless of course it's presented in a can with pictures of flowers on it. Then it's probably just chemical poo. Which is apparently okay to spray over everything in your house.)
If things stink - open a window, people!! Pick some flowers! Burn some essential oils! Hell, try cleaning once in a while! (Not that I advocate cleaning, of course. Just call me Earth Mother Lazy.) But for the love of this infinitesimal speck of a precious blue gem upon which we are so blessed to tread, stop filling our air, our homes and our lungs with this unnecessary crap!!! We have nowhere else to go, people! This Earth is the only one we have. Your children are the only ones you have. Expose them to nature, not to a picture of it on a can of poison. The last thing they need in their beautiful lives are superbugs which are immune to every antibacterial known to mankind, but which also smell like "crackling fire and cinnamon spice."
Okay. Rant over. I could go on, but I don't want someone chasing me down with some hands-free handwash and a spray can of chemical lavendar. If I wanted to inhale that many chemicals, I'd take up smoking.
Tomorrow, I promise I will return to the glorious, rainbow shores of Colour Month.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)